A Hair Nightmare
by paundromat
Summary: "Blaine," Kurt tries before his voice gets caught somewhere in the middle of his throat. He coughs a little bit and tries again. "Blaine, where's your hair?" A slightly crackish Klaine oneshot.


"**A HAIR NIGHTMARE"**

_**a oneshot by Paundromat**_

**READ ME:**** So this dinky, pathetic little oneshot is based off of one of the creepy Darren Criss dreams I had. It went something like this:**

**DARREN: lol hi.**

**PAUNDROMAT: wtf is your hair screwed up and like, not there? you are randomly bald.**

**DARREN: i wear a wig erryday lol.**

**PAUNDROMAT: omfg.**

**DARREN: ikr.**

**PAUNDROMAT: crazy shit.**

**So yes. Creepiness abounds. Enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER****: I obviously don't own Glee.**

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* * *

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Blaine's hair is really an undefinable mystery for Kurt.

It's gelled to a smooth, hard-as-rock perfection by day. On occasion, Blaine sweeps it up a little bit more dramatically, or swoops it down lower on his forehead in the tradition of George Clooney. But generally speaking, the Holy Hair in absolutely divine, in Kurt's humblest opinion.

What time Blaine spends in fixing his dark hair up, Kurt spends slathering on countless night creams and facial toners, so really, Kurt isn't one to judge. Takes one to know one, and all of that.

And if anything, Kurt _isn't_ a hypocrite.

The halls of Dalton are busy and congested as Kurt plows through brazenly, using his admittedly expensive leather messenger bag as a battering ram. Dalton students jostle against him and many blazers chafe up against his cheek. Why is everyone at Dalton so tall, again?

"Hey, Kurt!" says Wes as he strides on over and crooks an arm around the neck of the boy in question.

"Hey, Kurt!" David repeats, dropping a heavy hand on Kurt's shoulder.

As soon as Wes and David enter the picture, the hallways parts like the Red Sea. They've got special privileges, being Head Warblers, and all of that.

And according to one Blaine Anderson, the Warblers are rock stars.

"What?" Kurt snaps, even though he's thankful that the two had come to his aid. It meant that he didn't need to push through the throng, unprotected.

And besides, Kurt feels like absolutely crap. He had stayed up till four A.M. the previous night studying for his calculus chapter test and cramming the new Warbler harmonies into his head.

"Did you check out Blaine's hair today?" Wes asks, a huge grin plastered on his face.

"What about his hair?" Kurt replies tartly, a hand instinctively reaching up to pull through his own bangs.

"It's ungelled," David explains, making a large mushroom-shaped motion above his head with his hands. "His hair's huge when it's ungelled."

Kurt raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I doubt it," Kurt hedges stolidly. "His hair can't be that big if it can be gelled down that flat."

"Fine. Don't believe us," sniffs Wes, leading Kurt into the senior commons.

"You'll have to see for yourself," David sighs, steering Kurt into the commons along with Wes.

"Go die," Kurt mutters. "I need to get to my French cla—"

"Relax, it's break right now."

"For twenty whole minutes."

Kurt shrugs and rolls his eyes.

And he's trying to enter the senior commons, but all of a sudden he realizes that he can't see anything, because there's cloud of black _something _in the way.

"Mmph!" Kurt manages, struggling against the black mass. But resistance, he quickly finds, is absolutely futile.

Which proves to be completely useless, since the thing that had been blocking his vision just happened to talk to him...

...while sounding exactly like Blaine.

"Hi, Kurt..." A brief chuckle. "could you please get off of me?"

Kurt reddens and pushes himself away from the dark, curly stuff. It's strangely springy and very smooth, and it smells like green apple shampoo and cologne.

_Oh_.

Oh. The black stuff was Blaine's hair.

It's absolutely _wild_ and amazingly curled and _wow_, Kurt would _kill_ for disulfide bonds like that. Because the darkness contrasts with Blaine's fair skin superbly and loose spirals frame his face perfectly, even without his trademark hair gel.

"So they weren't kidding about the hair," Kurt breathes as Blaine shoots him his signature dapper grin.

"Nope," Blaine says. "It's okay, I know it's kind of horrendous."

Kurt shakes his head immediately. "No, I like it."

Wes and David nod their heads in unison. "We weren't kidding about the hair," they tell Kurt solemnly.

* * *

So that was the Mystical Hair that had been haunting Kurt ever since the twenty-minute break before fourth period.

And when Kurt was shuffling down the spiral staircase to get to the senior commons for practice with the rest of the Warblers, that was what he was thinking about. The Hair. The Hair. The magical, curly, and darkly _Blaine-_like hair that refused to leave his mind, like some sort of pleasant-smelling, spiraling mold.

The senior commons were empty for once. Kurt had decided to go in early in order to please Wes, David, and Thad, who were largely overzealous and always encouraged excessive punctuality. Where were those sainted Head Warblers now?

The drama presented by being a member of the Warblers could be the premise for a great dramedy-esque TV show, Kurt realizes, as he plops down on the nearest burgundy chaise and rests his chin on its armrest tiredly. His eyelids start to droop and they're almost closed when—

"Hey, Kurt, what's up?" Blaine asks conversationally, strolling under the intricate archway and into the senior commons, twirling the ring of his car keys deftly with his fingers.

"Hi, Blaine," Kurt says drowsily, voice muffled by the chaise. He turns to face him and reorganizes his posture so that he's actually sitting upright. With dignity.

Blaine's dressed, as always, in his perfectly starched Dalton Academy uniform, a navy overcoat draped over his forearm and his car keys jingling merrily in his pocket. He's got his perpetual Mona Lisa smile plastered on his face and the creases on his slacks so sharp that they probably could cut through steel.

_Probably._

But there's something different about Blaine that's got Kurt's mind reeling off in tangents.

Tangents and sines and cosines.

"Blaine," Kurt tries before his voice gets caught somewhere in the middle of his throat. He coughs a little bit and tries again. "Blaine, where's your hair?"

Because really, (no shit) Blaine's hair is _gone._

And his head is smooth as an eggshell and shiny as hell.

Blaine shrugs nonchalantly. "It was a wig," he tells Kurt calmly.

Kurt's eyes widen immensely. "Oh my God, what?" he near screeches, jumping up from his perch on the chaise.

Blaine stares at Kurt. "It's just a wig," he repeats firmly.

Kurt's eyes narrow. "Your hair...is a wig?"

Blaine nods slowly. "Yes," he affirms confidently, sliding his hands into his pants pockets casually.

"I can show you my wig mannequins sometime," Blaine adds

unnecessarily. "I really do favor the curlier wigs, but I wear mohawks on occasion."

And all of a sudden, Kurt feels like fainting.

Blaine sprints over to where Kurt is standing to steady his posture. "Are you okay, Kurt?" he asks, forehead wrinkling in concern.

"Your hair...is a wig," Kurt wheezes in reply, knees buckling and swaying in place.

"Are you okay?" Blaine repeats, cradling Kurt in his arms.

"No...no...no..." Kurt says, slumping a little bit even though Blaine's got a pretty firm hold on him.

The last things Kurt can see are the fluorescent lights glinting off of Blaine's excessively glossy, excessively bald head.

* * *

"Kurt? Kurt! Are you okay? _Kurt_!"

Wes is shaking him.

"Kurt! Wake up, man!"

David's shaking him, too.

"Is he coming to?" someone asks worriedly. Oh. Blaine.

Kurt's eyes shoot open and the first thing he sees is a Blaine with hair on his head. So that was good.

He had fallen asleep before Warblers' rehearsal. Typical.

"Oh," Kurt says dreamily, still lost in a sleep-induced daze. "You have your wig on, Blaine."

Wes and David take a moment to exchange looks with each other before breaking down into absolutely hysterical laughter.

Blaine looks confused, Kurt realizes as he reaches out to touch the Most Highly Esteemed Hair.

"I don't wear wigs," Blaine says as Kurt tugs on one of the dark curls, _hard_.

"But you were bald," Kurt points out petulantly.

"No, I wasn—_OW_, stop pulling on my hair!" Blaine protests.

"You were bald," Kurt repeats, setting his hands back on his lap and crossing his legs primly.

Wes hides his laughter behind the sleeve of his blazer. "I think he had a nightmare," he tells David, who nods in agreement.

"Kurt, man, that was just a dream," David explains, his breath hitching mid-sentence because of a suppressed laugh.

Blaine frowns. "He's afraid of my hair?"

Wes and David's eyes shoot daggers at Blaine. "Obviously not," they tell him reasonably. "He probably loves your hair."

Kurt nods eagerly. "I _do_ love your hair. Too bad it's fake."

Blaine's remarkably triangular-shaped eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. And it's great, Kurt thinks, that he has a hairline at all.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Blaine says.

"So...curly..." Kurt rattles on vapidly.

"He's adorable?" Wes offers, his statement coming out more like a question. Wes is nervous, and Blaine can tell because he's toying with the engraved gavel in his hands dubiously.

Kurt runs a hand through Blaine's freely coiling hair.

"I do like your hair, Blaine."

"Oh, my God. He fell asleep and now he's gone absolutely insane."

Blaine shushes David and pats Kurt's knee gently, helping him get up to his feet.

"Let's get you to class, Kurt."

**FIN(N HUDSON).**

**A/N:**** Yeah, so definitely pathetic and kind of on the crackier side of things. But entertaining nonetheless. Review! Favorite! (I wouldn't recommend story alerting, as this is simply a oneshot.) Might I also direct you to my other Klaine fanfictions, as well? Tell me what you think about the fic in a review! *does not care if it is positive, negative, or neutral***


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